


Chasing the Wind

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://spn-heraea.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://spn-heraea.livejournal.com/">spn_heraea</a> Round 1 Team Angst prompt, "Tornado Siren".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Chasing the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://spn-heraea.livejournal.com/profile)[spn_heraea](http://spn-heraea.livejournal.com/) Round 1 Team Angst prompt, "Tornado Siren".

_... like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind  
__forces pullin' from the center of the earth again_  
_I can feel it_. -- Live, "Lightning Crashes"

The sky turns black. It isn't the dark greenish-gray that precedes a heavy rain; it's black as pitch outside, and as the clouds roll in so do the memories. Just brief flashes at first, corresponding with the static crackle of clouds sparking against each other, and then longer as the dark gets darker and daylight disappears completely.

_Heavy as the car is, the wind jerks it all over the road. Any other time you'd be driving, of course, but that evil sonofabitch took a pretty good chunk out of your leg, and it's all you can do to keep the bleeding to a minimum._

The motel room is briefly illuminated as lightning strikes nearby. You sit on the edge of the bed in your second-story motel room, your toes curled on the ratty carpet, and imagine you can hear the rain hiss on the hot pavement outside as it begins to fall in large drops.

The raised scar on your thigh aches with the abrupt change in pressure outside, and you rub it absently. Your fingers slip on your sweaty skin. It's hot in the room. The air conditioning unit sputtered and ground to a halt within an hour after you checked in, but you're a Kansas boy born and bred, and you know better than to open the window when the wind starts to howl like it is right now.

_"We need to patch up your leg," Sam insists. "You're bleeding all over the place, and you know you'll be kicking my ass for letting you stain the upholstery later."_

_"I'm fine," you mutter, feeling blood run between your fingers where you've got them clamped down tight on your lower thigh. "Just drive faster."_

All the Kansas in the world can't keep you from walking to the window when the first bits of hail tap against it. You stare out into the black. This part has always been fascinating to you. The wind outside gusts with enough force to jolt the building time and time again.

When you were a kid, maybe three or four, you remember Mom and Dad used to let you hide in their bed when the weather turned wild. The three of you and Sammy would huddle under the blankets, and Mom would tell stories until the storm passed. You told your own versions of the stories to Sammy, later, when Mom was gone and he was the one who was scared of the wind.

_The car accelerates so fast that it shoves you against the seat, and your grip slips on your leg. Little bits of hail ping against the exterior. Those dings are gonna be a bitch to hammer out. "And if you crash my car -- "_

_"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, and you glance up from where you've been watching your backseat slowly stain to catch him grinning at you in the rearview._

You hear glass break and look down. A pretty good-sized chunk of ice has smashed through a pane in the window. There's shards scattered all over and you consider crossing the room to get your boots, but decide you'd rather catch the show.

Lightning arcs across the sky. As if this had been the signal the clouds had been waiting for, they split open into a sudden downpour. The rain whips through the hole in the window. Absently, you strip off your tee-shirt and stuff it in the hole. It'll do for now.

_It's only because you're watching Sam's grin in the mirror that you see the tree hurtling toward the car._

Right on cue, you hear a siren begin to wail. The building shifts in the wind; light fixtures hanging from the water-stained ceiling start rattling subtly. You know what comes next, and your memory pulls up the sound of the strange, yet familiar hissing sound before it's actually audible.

Your shirt is soaked through. Only the jagged edges of the hole in the glass keep the drenched cotton from sliding to the floor. You should probably be moving downstairs now, finding a basement or a doorway in this pathetic excuse for a dumpy motel to brace yourself. You take a deep breath of the cool, electrified air.

_"Sam, look -- "_

The hiss becomes a roar, drowning out the siren's warning. The structural supports of the motel pop around you. There's the screech of metal as the roof detaches. Glass explodes in every direction.

_The blaring of the Impala's horn is what wakes you. Outside, it's raining softly. The wind has died down completely. You open your eyes and blink a few times; blood loss has made your vision blurry. A large, leafy branch obscures your view of the front seat._

_You don't have to see to know what's there. And what's not._


End file.
